Cottagecore: Road Trip Chapter 8 – Vignettes and the road to the beach
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After Guy and Liam left, I rearranged the pillows on Liam's bed, which had fewer cum stains on the sheets. I pulled my atlas and national parks guidebooks out from my backpack so I could start to plan my retreat south. It was disappointing, but I knew I'd be miserable if I didn't get out of the cold and rain.
The nasty weather traced the Southern edge of the Great Lakes, and then pushed North above Buffalo.
What was worse, forecasters predicted that the weather system would linger for a week, so I couldn't wait it out. Since I had about three weeks left before I needed to be in Albany, I had to radically rethink my trip.My frustration grew as I realized that there wasn't much I could find that I wanted to see in the lower midwestern states. I knew there would be pockets of natural beauty, but not much of the original landscape had been spared from agricultural development, at least not through parks or preserves.
I looked further South. Great Smokey National Park? I wanted to visit the Appalachian Mountains, but it was more than twelve hundred miles away, and then another eight hundred miles back to Albany afterwards. I could do each trip in a couple of days, but I'd have to use Interstates.
Maybe I could visit Shenandoah National Park and some of the Civil War battlefields on the drive North from Great Smokey, but my back tensed up just thinking about all those tedious miles and the bad fast food that would have to come with them. It felt like I'd abandon the spirit of my trip if I did that.
In truth, I was getting tired of my time in my truck. An idea suddenly popped into my head that was so perfect that I knew I'd do it the moment I had the thought. One of my high school friend's older brothers was working as a ranger at Assateague Island National Seashore east of Washington D.C. My buddy had spent a couple of weeks there after graduation and it sounded amazing.
All of the campsites would be taken, I was sure, but I could probably find a tent site at an RV park. Plus, there had to be hostels or cheap motels I could find nearby. I'd spent so little money that I still had more than $1,000 of my trip budget I could put up with some Interstate miles if it meant a couple of weeks loafing on the beach before I started orientation.
As I plotted my drive, there was a knock on the door. I was happy to see that it was Cal, the motel's manager. "Hey there," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you know that checkout is at 11:00 and we're so busy that I can't extend it. Sorry," he said with a smile.
"No problem," I said. "I'm mapping out the next leg of my trip and then I'm going to hit the road." I added, "thanks, by the way. Guy and Liam are awesome!"
"Liam?" Cal asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile. "Oh my!" He fanned his face with his hand.
I laughed. "Ask him about it the next time you see him. Anyway," I said watching the deluge behind Cal, "it was great to be in a warm, dry room last night. Another night in my truck would have been miserable. So thanks for setting that up too."
"We like to be hospitable around here," Cal smiled. "Speaking of which, Liam seemed to think that they didn't leave you fully satisfied. Its early so I thought I would stop by and see if I could help you out." Brazen. I liked it.
"Liam was right. I'd have loved to go another round or three with those guys, but they had to hit the road. I was planning to, uh, take matters into my own hand before I left, but it would be way more fun with you."
Cal came and shut and locked the door. I gestured. "Liam's bed's cleaner."
Cal laughed. "It doesn't matter to me. I've been with those two so many times, we probably share DNA by now."
I stepped towards Cal and leaned in to kiss him. We kissed for a few second, gentle, getting to know each other.
"Liam said you gave Guy quite the workout," said Cal. "Do you want to show me what you did?"
I laughed. "Yes I do!" I said, "but you get to drive. Guy is an athletic fuck."
It was Cal's turn to laugh. "Lay back, I'll ride you."
"Hot!" I said. "That's one of my favorites."
"Mine too," Cal said as he pulled off his shirt.
I'd underestimated Cal's body the night before. In his waiter's outfit and apron, Cal looked willowy, like a dancer maybe. But while he had a thin frame, his body was covered with taught, ropy muscles.
"Damn, Cal," I said, "are a climber? You're ripped!"
"Coming from you, I'll take the compliment. I climb some, but mostly I kayak. When the rivers around here are flooding, they are great for paddling. It's why I live out here in the middle of nowhere."
Cal was naked now. His chest was covered in light brown fuzz that couldn't possible grow so short, but didn't look obviously clippered. Dark nipples the size of dimes. A thick treasure trail led to a manicured patch of chestnut pubes. His growing uncut cock was nicely shaped and about average. Cal's large balls hung low in a hairless sack.
I pulled off my shorts and tee shirt and sat on the bed, my back against the headboard. "Climb on," I said.
Cal straddled my hips and leaned forward to kiss me. He was quite a bit shorter than me, so I pulled him onto my chest. I could feel his cock stiffening as we made out.
"Stick your dick in my mouth," I said, sliding down between his legs.
Cal slid forward and lifted his stiffening cock to my mouth. I grabbed his sack and inhaled him, all the way to his base. Cal moaned and leaned in, hands braced against the headboard. I used his nuts as a handle to slide up and down his cock. I was instantly hard as a rock.
Cal moaned and took over controlling the pace, his pubes in my nose thrusting deep into my throat. I massaged his nuts with one hand and tickled his ass with the other.
I'd have been happy if Cal kept fucking my face and came down my throat, but he wanted me to fuck him. After a few delicious minutes, he pulled out and slid down my body. "I'm going to cum too soon if you keep that up," he said. He slid down beside my and took my cock in his hand. "I need this in me!"
"Climb on," I laughed, humping his fist.
"Do you have any lube?" he asked.
"Shit, no, sorry."
"No problem," he said, getting up and going into the bathroom. He came out with the little bottle of conditioner the motel supplied. "This will work okay." Live and learn.
Cal emptied the bottle into his hard and smeared it up and down the top half of my cock, pulling back my foreskin to add the conditioner to my oozing precum. "That's better," he said as he straddled me.
"Guide it in," he breathed. "Go slow."
Once I was all the way in, Cal started to ride me. Slow at first and then faster. His cock slapped my belly.
After just a couple of minutes Cal asked, "will you fuck me from behind? I like it hard."
"I'll miss this view," I said looking at his gorgeous body and stroking his cock. "Climb off and get ready."
Cal looked back at me over his shoulder with a wicked smile. "Give it to me big boy. Fuck me."
I slid in easily, all the way to the base. Cal moaned in pleasure as I started to hammer him. Soon he collapsed face first, screaming into a pillow as I fucked him hard.
Sooner than I wanted, I was close to cumming. "Cal," I moaned, "oh fuck, Cal . . .." I groaned as I unloaded into his guts. Shot after shot, I kept slamming into Cal with a short, hard thrusts with each shot.
I continued to grind into his ass as Cal writhed on the bed under me, screaming and moaning into the pillow. After a few minutes, I pulled out and rolled next to Cal. "Let me take care of you, bud," I whispered into his ear.
Cal looked up with a smile and said, "I came before you did. I almost never cum hands free. I wish you could stick around a few days and do that a bunch more."
Tempting, but the beach called to me. "Sorry, bud, I've got to get going."
We took a quick shower, during which I was sorely tempted by that hot body and delicious cock to spend another day in the rain. But' I'd made up my mind and wanted to get going.
I grabbed sandwiches for breakfast and lunch from the café. At the next gas station, I filled up my truck and bought one of those wide-mouth bottles of Gatorade. I figured it would take about 24 road hours to get to the coast. The drive would suck, but I decided to get there in two days. I'd need to piss in the bottle to avoid too many bathroom stops.
The fastest route took me through Chicago, but I didn't want to drive in city traffic, so planned a route South through Minnesota and down into Wisconsin. I wanted to get to Indianapolis by the end of my first day, but that would take about 13 hours of driving. From there, I'd drive South and East to reach Interstate 70. It would be another 12 hours or to get to the beach.
For a minute, I thought about stopping in Washington, D.C. But if I was honest with myself, I realized I was pretty done with the road trip. A couple of weeks on the beach before A. Ham. would be a nice way to get ready for college. I had a lot on my mind. Maybe coming to rest for a couple of weeks would help me collect myself.
As I drove South, I started thinking about how much I'd changed since I left California. The physical change was obvious. I'd gained about 10 pounds of muscle biking and climbing in the Southwest. I'd been so active, I'd also lost the little body fat I had when I started the trip. I was deeply tanned from all my time outside. I was glad to say, I'd start college looking better than I ever had.
My mother would be horrified to see my fuzzy face, but it was a total pain in the ass to shave on the road. I'd clean myself up before I got to school. Plus, I needed to think about my intimate appearance. I was a little bushy here and there. Cal told me about his grooming routine and I decided that I'd buy a set of clippers and clean myself up a little before I got to A. Ham.
Reflecting as I pushed South, I realized how fortunate I'd been. No car trouble, no speeding tickets, and until now, the weather had mostly been fine. I'd never felt unsafe on the trip. Well, almost never. That day in New Mexico, before I dropped down towards Oklahoma had been a little crazy.
A freak snowstorm had blown in across the Sangre de Cristo range just as I passed the summit. I'd pulled into a roadhouse parking lot to put chains on my tires. I didn't think the snow would last for long, but I wasn't going to drive down slick roads without chains even with 4WD on.
Just as I finished chaining up, a guy came out of the roadhouse. "If you're planning to get back on the road, don't bother until they plow the roads. It's too steep, even with chains. If you slide off the road on some of these corners, you'd fall 1,000 feet before you landed."
He was a grizzled old guy dressed like a rancher, maybe in his 60s. "Do you know how long until the plows come through?" I asked.
The rancher looked pissed. "Does it matter, if you're dead on the bottom of the canyon otherwise?"
"Sorry, you're right," I said. "Patience isn't my best virtue."
"Have a Coke, get some lunch, play some pool. The food's good and the pie's great."
"Thanks," I said. I grabbed my backpack and went inside.
The place was mostly a bar, which stretched the length of the room. A few tables sat by the front window, separated from the bar by a pool table. A juke box in the corner played Willie Nelson.
I asked the bar tender, "is it okay if I come in? I'm not 21."
"Just sit over by the windows and you're fine. What can I get you?"
The menu slanted Mexican so I ordered chili rellenos. I took a seat in the watery light and pulled out a copy of The Autobiography of Malcolm X, which I'd read the previous year for a Language Arts class and which was on the syllabus for one of the classes I planned to take my first year.
I hadn't paid much attention to anybody else as I came in, but when I put the book down when my food was delivered, I noticed that the room was about half full. Ranchers and their wives and younger guys, probably ranch hands. Some guys were playing pool and others shooting the shit over beers.
"What the fuck is that?" one of the pool players asked, glaring at my book. He was in his 20s, maybe 6'2" and heavyset. Dressed in Wranglers and a dirty tee shirt under a dirty flannel, a couple of days of stubble, and a wad of tobacco packed into his lower lip.
"It's for a class," I said, trying to not to engage what I assumed was some racist bullshit.
"Summer school?" he sneered.
"No, assigned reading for next semester."
"Oh, `semester.' Fancy ass college kid. Who the fuck would assign that shit for a class?"
"I don't ask questions, I'm just about to start school, I just do the reading, man." More de-escalation, I hoped.
"Sheeple," sneered the dude, but he turned back to the pool game.
I was on edge as I ate, and eager to get the hell out of there. But the plows hadn't come and I didn't fancy falling 1,000 feet to my death, so I sat tight and finished my lunch.
As I ate, the dick's poll game ended when he scratched shooting for the 8-ball. He decided to get back in my face. "So, sheeple," he said, walking into my personal space.
"Back the fuck up, Rick," called the bar tender. "Leave the kid alone."
Rick rolled his eyes and asked me, "do you hate white people?"
"Leave me alone, man. I'm just waiting the storm out, until I can get back on the road. Just go away, okay?"
I'd spent part of the last few weeks bouldering and climbing. My knuckles were covered in scabs. He kept looking back and forth at my scabby hands and my face. I could tell he was wondering if I'd cut up my knuckles fighting, but hadn't taken any damage myself. His calculation was obvious, if my hands were torn up and my face wasn't, maybe he didn't want to mess with me.
"Fuck you," he said. "You come into my hangout wearing shorts in a snow storm and that fucking gay-ass fleece and reading that anti-white bullshit? Fuck you."
"Dude," I said, "go away. I'll buy you a beer if they'll let me. Or give you money to buy one for yourself. Just leave me alone." De-escalate, de-escalate, de-escalate.
"I wouldn't drink shit you paid for," he spat, red in the face and livid. "Fuck you!" He walked back towards the bar. I'd fucked that up, I guess, but I didn't know how.
I picked up the check and took it to the barman, who had watched the exchange. "I'm going to get out of here, wait for the plows in my truck," I said.
He nodded, took my payment, and said afterwards, "you can hang out in the kitchen if you'd rather."
"Thanks," I said, "but I just want to be out of here."
As I turned to go, I heard a whistling sound. In the mirror behind the bar, I saw Rick swingling a pool cue at me. I was able to turn so that my backpack and the shoulder strap took most of the impact, but I still got a serious whack. The bruise took weeks to disappear.
"Fuck this!" I said. I'd taken martial arts classes, isshin ryu karate, since I was eight years old. This was the first time I'd ever used it outside a dojo.
I spun around and yanked the cue out of Rick's hands. The surprise on his face was delicious. I stepped inside his swing range and jabbed the first two knuckles of my right hand hard into the center of Rick's right shoulder, and then his left.
"What the fuck?" He screamed, "I can't move my arms!"
"Fuck you," I said, pushing him back into one of the café chairs. He landed with a thud.
I pushed the pool cue between the first and second arm supports, locking him into the chair like a safety bar on an amusement ride. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides.
I turned to the barman and put a $10 bill on the bar. "For the mess," I said.
"Mess?" he asked, "what mess?"
"Rick here has had a couple of beers, right?"
"Four," said the barman.
"He'll be able to use his arms again in three or four hours," I said. "Until then, either somebody here is going to have to hold his dick or he's going to piss his pants. My bet is on the pants piss, so here's a tip for who ever has to clean in up."
The barman laughed. "Not my problem. We'll just set him outside and he can clean himself up later."
I didn't care. I shrugged and turned to another dude, who had been filing the entire time.
"You knew he was going to do that and didn't say anything?"
"With Rick, he's always going to do something stupid. Never that dangerous, though. I wanted to film you kicking his ass."
"Give me your phone," I said.
"Why?"
"Rick seems like just the sort of asshole who would try to turn himself into the victim here."
"You're not wrong," he said.
"I just want a copy of the video, that's all I'm going to do."
He handed me his phone as Rick hollered and hopped up and down like a toddler locked into a high chair.
I forwarded the video to myself, the deleted the sent message, the deleted the deleted sent message. I didn't want these guys to have any way to track me down.
I left the roadhouse into hard snow, still falling thickly. As I reached my truck, I heard the grind of a plow on concrete.
When the snowplows passed the roadhouse going West, the way I had come, I fell in behind it planning to drive further South, where there was a lower-elevation pass. I'd have to drive late into the night to make up the lost time and meet my mom in Nebraska, but it would be worth the hassle to be away.
About a mile later, we passed a plow driving East. I made a flagrantly illegal U-turn and followed the plow down the East slope of the mountains.
As Minnesota gave way to Wisconsin, my thoughts turned to what I'd learned about myself in the last few months. Starting the trip, I knew what I longed for with Dan. Now, I had a much clearer idea of what I liked to do with guys.
Blowjobs, of course. I love to suck cock. I don't think I mentioned my favorite blowjob from the road trip. Favorite so far, that is. I've still got a couple of weeks on the beach, so check back with me when I get to Albany.
In Colorado, I'd spent a night in a hostel. There was a shared kitchen next to a communal dining area.
There were men and women's dorms. On the men's side, there were five sets of bunkbeds lining the walls. Beyond the beds was a bathroom with two stalls, three sinks and an alcove with an open shower with four heads along one wall.
I'd arrived around dinnertime. I'd stopped at the grocery store beforehand and made food for the next couple of days. Bean and cheese burritos, hardboiled eggs, a big pot of sauteed greens—stuff that would keep in my cooler for the next couple of days without going too dodgy.
I ate at a long table with other folks staying the night, although it wasn't too crowded. There was a group of four college aged girls from Italy chatting over big bowls of linguine and another family, two moms and their boys, who looked to about 6 and 8. Across the table were a father and son, who was a few years older than me and cute in a jockish way, the only other guys staying at the hostel.
The dad was Carl and the son was Christian. They were on their way to raft down the Colorado River, a trip Carl said he'd reserved when Christian was in high school. In June, Christian had graduated from theUniversity of Wisconsin with a degree in genetics. He said he was taking a year off school to before starting either med school or an advanced academic degree focused on gene research.
Christian and I stayed at the table after his dad wondered over to an easy chair and picked up a magazine. I told Christian that I planned to study some biology in college and we chatted for a bit about college classes. He gave me some suggestions for how to stay on top of my work and what to do if I didn't understand a concept, which all sounded useful.
We talked a about college in general, what he liked. It was clear he would miss being in Madison.
"Do you still have friends at home," I asked.
"Not really," he said. "I changed so much in college, grew up a lot, moved on from the farmer's kid jock I was in high school. Expanded my horizons, came out, stuff like that, you know?"
I had to laugh. "I started coming out a few months ago and I already feel like I'm a totally different person." Come to think about it, what would it feel like living back at home? I wondered if I would want to, even for the summer.
Christian and I chatted about gay life in college. He'd had a series of casual boyfriends before meeting his current guy at the start of his senior year. "We're good together, it may be long term. This year will help us know. He'll be a senior. We live close enough that we can visit on weekends. We'll see if we can make long distance work. What about you?"
I told him about Dan, and our agreement to be open while he was away. "That makes sense," he said. "Terry and I are open when we're not together. He's studying in Boston this summer, so it would have been hard if we didn't open things up."
We chatted for a little longer, but I'd had a long day so I packed up my food, finished cleaning the kitchen, and headed to the dorm. I hadn't had a good shower in a few days, so I spent a long time under the water. Christian wandered into the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. I could see him watching me in the mirror.
"Join me?" I asked quietly.
"Not with my dad around," he said. "Maybe later."
I gave him a thumbs up, and then turned sideways so he could see my half-hard cock.
I toweled off, pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and stretched out on my bed, the bottom bunk furthest from the toilets. I grabbed a novel from my backpack and read until Carl came through.
Christian was on his back listening to something through headphones.
The room was a little stuffy, which I didn't mind because Christian was shirtless in a pair of boxer briefs.
He had a beautiful gym-hard body. A light dusting of chestnut hair across his broad chest, abs that looked like Christian might be flexing for my benefit, and a bulky package that made my mouth water.
After lights out, I was quickly reminded of why I prefer camping to hostels. Carl fell asleep and settled into a deep buzzing snore.
After a few minutes, Christian stood up quietly and waited to see if the movement would wake up his dad. No change. Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Christian nodded towards the bathroom and tiptoed towards the shower alcove. As quietly as I could, I slipped out of my sleeping bag and stood up. Carl's snoring snagged but in a few breaths he had settled back into his chainsaw impression.
I padded into the bathroom to find Christian with his cock hardening down the leg of his briefs.
"We have to be quick and quiet," he whispered.
"Quiet but not quick," I whispered back, reaching out to stroke his cock through the thin fabric. "We'll know in a second if your dad wakes up. We won't get caught."
"Yeah, okay," Christian said, "I've just never done anything like this."
"Me neither," I said back. "Can I suck your cock?"
"Yeah, man, that's my favorite."
"Mine too." As I sank to my knees Christian pulled his cock and balls over the elastic waistband. The elastic held him perfectly eye-level.
His dick was beautiful. But all dicks are beautiful, right? Or at least, most dicks. Christian's was probably about 6.5" with a normal girth, tapering from the base to his head. Cut with no scar. Clippered pubes. A drop of precum beaded at his shaft. A lovely sight.
Christian breathed in hard as I took the head of his cock in my mouth and braced a hand against the wall behind me. I kept sucking, not applying too much pressure, to get my throat used to his cock and get him lubed up. I quickly found my rhythm. In fact, Carl supplied it. I sucked down as Carl snored and pulled back as he inhaled. A languid pace that started to frustrate Christian.
After a couple of minutes of my slow sucking, Christian put his hand behind my head and started to thrust harder. I could tell he was close to cumming but it was too soon for that. I pulled off his cock and licked his shaft from the base to his frenulum, tickling him and backing him off from his orgasm.
"Dude," he moaned in a whisper.
"Quiet but not quick," I reminded him.
"It's been like three weeks for me. C'mon, man."
"Soon," I said.
For the next 20 minutes I edged Christian, getting him just to the brink of cumming before I slipped him out of my mouth to play with his balls or lick his shaft. His cock was slimy with precum and his breathing was ragged.
Finally, it was time. I started off like I'd been going, slow and steady with light pressure, to make him think it was more of the same. But I started to increase my pace and pressure. I squeezed Christian's rock hard sack as I felt his cock swell in my throat and let him take over.
As he came, Christian fucked my throat with short, hard thrusts that pushed me back against the shower wall. His hand on the back of my head cushioned me as he ravaged my mouth, with his other hand still planted against the wall. He eventually slowed down and released my head, so I took back over, grabbing his ass and lengthening my strokes.
For the next few minutes, I slowly sucked from his base to the point where just the tip of his cock rested on my tongue. Christian continued to ooze cum and precum, which I continued to swallow with great pleasure.
"What about you," Christian breathed after he'd slid down the wall to sit next to me.
"I came when you did," I said, pointing to a puddle of cum next to me. "That was so fucking hot."
"Yeah, man. Want me to suck your cock some?"
"Hell yes," I whispered, hiking up the leg of my shorts to expose my long dark cock.
"Sweet," smiled Christian, as he slid down beside my leg and started to suck my dick and stroke my shaft. After about five minutes of Christian's attention, I realized I was close to cumming again. "Dude,"
I whispered, "I'm really close! Oh fuck, I'm going to cum!"
"Cum in my mouth," Christian said around my cock, swallowing the first half of my dick and bobbing up and down just an inch or so. That set me off, a powerful orgasm that Christian extended by continuing to bob on my cock as I shot again and again.
I hoped I hadn't made too much noise, but to be honest, I had not idea what sounds came out of me as I unloaded into Christian's mouth. By the time I was aware of my surroundings again, Carl's snoring sounded normal, so we were probably okay.
"That was awesome," I sighed. "My first blowjob." Dan had sucked my cock a bunch, but I'd never cum.
I reached over and quickly jerked another orgasm out of Christian. I took him in my mouth and sucked his cock clean. He held the back of my head down as he pumped into my mouth.
"Man, that was hot," he whispered as we both slumped against the cool tile wall. "Thanks."
"Thank you, bud," I whispered back. "I'll remember tonight forever."
I'm sure the only reason I got enough sleep that night was because Christian left me so relaxed.
Unfortunately, there was no time to relax as I drove South from Minnesota. Heavy rains and lot of accidents slowed my travel and I knew I wouldn't make the beach in two days. I might be lucky to make it in three.
Thankfully, the rain lightened and traffic improved south of Madison, so I pushed hard and made it to Bloomington, Illinois before calling it a night. I grabbed bread and stuff for sandwiches at a grocery store and checked into a clean-looking motel along the interstate.
More of the same the next day, although I was almost south of the rain. Showers and squalls slowed me down a bit, but it was nothing like the rain further North.
I thought some about hand jobs as I drove South and East. There's beauty to a good hand job that I did not appreciate from the porn I'd watched. Giving and receiving. I'd decided to steer clear from straight guys, and "straight" guys, but on my road trip, I'd learned that some pretty hot guys were up for hand jobs but not more. I could be okay with that.
When I was hiking at the Petrified Forest Trail in T.R. National Park, I'd fallen in alongside a guy in his late-20s. He had dark hair and eyes, olive skin, and high cheekbones. Native American, maybe? He wore a bright white tee shirt and hiking shorts, and sleek athletic sunglasses. Other than his cheekbones, what caught my eye was a very expensive camera on a strap around his neck.
I struck up a conversation, asking about the camera. "It's new. I bought it for the trip. I'm still experimenting, figuring it out. I won't know how good it is until I download all the pictures after the trip. Are you a photographer?" he asked, seeking my own camera.
"I took a media class my last year in high school and one of my blocks focused on photography, but I can't say I'm a photographer," I said. I like to take pictures, but I'm a long way from using a term like "photographer" to describe myself.
As we hiked, we chatted about where we were from and where we were going. He was vague about his job, saying "real estate" in his family's business in Denver. He'd graduated from the University of Colorado a few years earlier but it sounded like he went mainly for the parties.
I was wearing a tank top and a pair of hiking shorts. In the brutal heat, I was soon soaked through. My new friend looked like he'd just stepped out of an air conditioned room.
As we reached the overlook we both wanted to photograph, Joe told me, "I've walked out here for the last three days at different times. The light has hit the rocks in different ways every day."
I mentioned how beautiful I though the light was on the rocks and he said casually, "just like you."
I blushed and smiled and thanked him. "You're really hot too," I stammered.
He smiled. "I hoped I guessed correctly. Would you like to come with me to a place I know up the path just a bit, where we can have some privacy?"
I gulped. "I don't have much experience," I said, partially as a way to deflect. How much trouble would I be in if we got caught hooking up in a National Park?
"Don't worry," Joe said. "I have lots of experience, but I don't want to do much more than you can do to yourself. And it's very private," he added, maybe sensing my concern.
There was almost nobody on the trail anyway so I figured we were safe enough. "Lead the way," I smiled a little sheepishly.
We walked single file through a narrow canyon. Joe turned into a slot canyon that you couldn't see walking up the trail and which was hard to see from the other direction due to a boulder.
We follows the winding canyon for about a hundred yards, until we reached what seemed be a miracle: a small pond hidden in the shadows of the cliffs. "You'll have to take off your boots if you don't want them wet," Joe said, "but the water's only a few inches deep." Joe splashed across and I followed.
After maybe 20 more yards, the slot opened in a small room, open to the sky. A boulder that might once have been the roof of a cave sat in the middle of the cavern.
"We've been coming here since I was a little kid. This is one of my favorite places. I think of it as my secret room. I thought you might like it here."
I did. "It's beautiful, like a real oasis."
Joe laughed, "Yeah, a private oasis. I would love to jerk you off. Can I?"
"Do I get to help you get off?" I asked. "I mean, yes, of course, but can I . . . do what you want me to do?" I rushed a little lamely. "Sorry," I finished, "I'm new to this."
"I usually limit what I do with guys to hand jobs," said Joe, "and I'd love it if you'd help me out. But I get to go first, okay?"
"Yeah," I said, "tell me what to do."
"Pull down your shorts and lay back there, where the stone slopes."
As I lay back, Joe knelt in font of me. I pulled down my shorts and underwear and let them fall to my ankles.
Joe reached our and took my thickening cock in his hand.
"Nice," he said, slowly stroking me with his right hand, his thumb running along the underside of my cock. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch.
As Joe stroked me with his right hand, he cradled my nuts with his left, stroking and squeezing. I'd started to leak precum, which Joe squeezed onto his thumb and slid down my shaft. He left my foreskin covering my head, pulling it down and releasing it to add friction.
Joe took his time, edging me along like I had with Christian back in Colorado. After maybe 10 minutes, he asked "are you ready to cum?"
"Fuck yeah," I moaned, "finish me off!"
"Pull up your shirt," said Joe, "you're going to shoot up."
I knew I was going to cum a bucket, so I pulled off my shirt entirely. "Rocking body, kid," said Joe, as he picked up the pace and pressure of the hand job.
"Oh, fuck!" I groaned as the orgasm took hold. I shot and shot, and Joe continued to pump my cock and massage my nuts. I sprayed cum across my chest and belly, a huge messy load. Joe slowed down but kept stroking my dick.
"That was a beautiful sight," said Joe, as he finally let go of my dick, pulling it so far down between my legs that it swung back up and hit my sticky belly with a satisfying smack. "My turn?"
"Yeah, man," I laughed, "but give me a second, I'm weak in the knees. That was awesome!"
I stood up and used a bandana from by daypack to clean myself up. As Joe positioned himself on the boulder, I pulled my shorts up so I could use them to pad my knees.
Joe pulled his shorts down, revealing a fat uncut cock already slimy with precum. I mirrored his hand job technique, slow and steady, playing with his nuts and edging him. I thought I took it too far early on,
when I felt him start to thicken, but I gave his nuts a distracting squeeze and slowed my stroking down.
As I got ready to send him over the edge, I decided to push it. "Will you cum in my mouth?" I asked.
"Dude, I don't know. I mean . . .. Yeah, okay. Do it!"
I slid between Joe's knees and sank my mouth onto his fat slimy cockhead, pushing down his foreskin. I kept my hand on the base of his cock, so I covered every bit of his cock with my mouth or hand. In about five strokes, Joe came in one massive shot. He screamed as he came, a loud "OH!" and then continued to thrust into my mouth.
I had been stroking my cock as I sucked Joe came again as I sucked Joe's cock after his orgasm. Joe giggled, "okay, okay, okay, I'm really sensitive, you have to stop." I leaned back, pulling my mouth off his dickhead, but I continued to stroke his meaty shaft. "Goddamn, man, that was great!"
I smiled. "Thanks for showing me this place," I said. "I'll never forget it."
Joe and I chatted as we hiked back to the trailhead. He was headed back to Denver and I was on my way East for more adventures.
I didn't realize it as I drove towards the beach, but bottoming can be awesome too. I'd had some fun in Oklahoma, but it wasn't until later that I learned that lesson. If a guy who turned me on, was turned on to fuck me, that turned me on even more.
As I neared Columbus, Ohio, my truck's engine began to make a rough noise. It got louder as I drove on, so I left the freeway and pulled into an upscale shopping center anchored by a chain shopping store and movie theater. I turned into a parking space under a huge red oak tree as the noise turned deafening.
Shit. It was a belt of some sort, but I'd need my dad's help to figure out what to do.
I haven't told you much about my truck. It's a 1993 Range Rover my parents bought for me for my 18th birthday. They bought the truck from its original owner, a retiree who sometimes spent summers in our town. Dad stored the truck for him when he was away. When they bought it, it only had 24,000 miles on it.
Dad's shop focused on American cars, but he'd learned to work on British cars playing around with MGs after college. For my truck, he stripped out all the interior seating and panels and built in storage drawers and then reinstalled the seating, which could now be folded down into as a bed. I could fit both my bikes, all my backpacking equipment, and my clothes out of sight. It was tight as a Swiss watch.
Through the phone, my dad agreed a belt was failing. After listening to the noise and hearing my description, he gave me the part number I needed to order and told me how to replace it. I'd worked on enough trucks with Dad to know how to do the job, but I'd never done it myself. Once I had the part, I'd have a new challenge. Until then, I'd need a plan.
First, I called the auto part store I found a few blocks away from the mall. They didn't have the part in stock but could get it in a couple of days. I placed the order.
I would need permission from the mall's security team if I didn't want to have my truck towed, but I didn't think I'd make a great impression looking like a guy who had been living out if his truck for six weeks. My first stop was a Quick Clips for a haircut, and then the fitness center attached to the mall. I bought a day pass and changed into my nicest outfit after a quick shower.
By the time I reached the mall's security office, I looked more like a college freshman than a backpacker.
"Can I help you?" asked the guard staffing the front desk.
I explained my situation. "I'm on my way to start college at Alexander Hamilton University and one of my truck's belts is failing. I can have it towed and stay in a hotel until I can get the part in a couple of days, but I know you allow RVs to park overnight. I was hoping I could have the same permission."
The guard looked me up and down. "Alexander Hamilton, eh?"
"Yes sir. Registration starts in a little more than two weeks. I'm on my way from California."
"Here's the thing, kid. We can't start letting homeless people park here. It's bad for business and unhygienic. Where will you sleep, where will you use the bathroom?"
"My truck is rigged for me to sleep in it, my dad redesigned the seats to fold into a bed. I'll buy day passes and shower at the gym. I can use the bathroom there. I won't cause any problems, I promise."
"Where are you parked?" he asked. It felt like I was making headway.
"I'm near the RV spaces under an enormous red oak."
"You know your trees, I like that. How long will it take for you to fix the truck?"
"The store said the replacement belt will be here in a couple of days. It's not hard to replace the belt, so I'll probably be gone by Thursday."
"This isn't the sort of thing we normally allow. But let me check with my supervisor and I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," I said.
And that's how I ended up camping in an Ohio mall for what turned out to be four days.
As always, thank you for reading the chapter. The next few chapters are some of Jon's experiences in Columbus, and then on to a family reunion for the ages. Good clean fun, I promise.
I'd love any feedback via email to cottagecore.stories@gmail.com
Next: Cottagecore: Road Trip Chapter 9 – Andy
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